Defining
by TheSunDreamsToo
Summary: He used to be Bucky Barnes from Brooklyn until he was broken and re-shaped into the Winter Soldier. He survived but now he had to rehabilitate himself into someone new. As he sat underneath the stars with her by his side, he finally felt that could be possible. After CAWS, before Civil War.
1. For Luck

I: For luck

Orders were for containment and elimination, no witnesses. The climate fell in line with those orders as if it had planned to do so all along. The bitter cold air bit at every inch of exposed skin and persistently burrowed through layers of clothing. The clouds had rolled in and snow was falling heavily, obscuring visibility. He crouched from his perch on top of the hill, a winding road slick with black ice down below him. He removed the glove from his right hand and held it above his head for a moment, gauging the slight variances of the air currents.

Even in these conditions, he could still make the shot.

He grabbed his sniper rifle from the nearby motorcycle and strode towards the most western point of the higher ground. The fresh snow crunched underneath his feet and then the weight of his body as he laid down to position himself and the rifle.

A brown speck on the road appeared in the distance.

Containment and elimination. Clean shot through the head of the driver. Multiple shots to the rest of the occupants. Leave a gun that could be traced back to the driver himself. To anyone else, it would look like a murder-suicide. It was exactly what HYDRA wanted. He readied himself, making small adjustments in the way his arms and shoulders. The brown speck slowly began to morph into a brown car. This was it. The targets were nearing. The car was in range for the first shot.

The soldier did not hesitate. A sharp echo resounded throughout the mountains. A second, then a third, then a fourth.

The car swerved and accelerated as the dead weight of the driver shifted forward. He stood up and removed the red herring pistol from a holster on his right hip. Anyone else would have felt a spike of adrenaline, or a twist of horror in their belly, but his heart beat steady and there were no cracks in his conviction; the need to complete his objective was all encompassing. A fire had broken out underneath the hood of the car when he reached the driver's side to confirm elimination. The thick, gray smoke coupled with the heavy snow clouded his vision but he saw the clear exit wound on the man's left temple.

A gurgle within the car.

He went over to the passenger side and ripped open the door with his left hand, pistol raised in his right. The fire crackled and spit, the unleashed fumes severely limiting his vision even as he stood in front of his targets. He squinted at the young woman in the seat: she was dead. Her painted lips were open in a half-formed scream, her head lolled to the side. Had the noise been a dying breath? No, there it was again.

A small bundle in her arms squirmed and cried. He lowered the pistol. That wasn't right. The briefing was specific. Four targets. Three men, all between the ages of thirty-two and forty-eight. One woman, approximately thirty. No infants.

He glanced in the backseat. Visibility was low but he could still make out the shape and size. The two people in the backseat were not adult stature.

This was wrong. He had made a mistake. The pistol in his hand trembled. What had he done?

The bundle let out an ear-piercing shriek.

What should he do?

Somewhere in his head, he heard a man scream in pain. He recognized it as his own voice. A sensation of falling lurched in his gut. A phantom jolt lingered in his left shoulder. Pieces of memories that would had not haunted him in ages resurfaced from the darker waters of his mind: A band was playing in the background and he had been dancing with pretty girls all night; frail Steve, filling out application after application with different addresses at the dinner table; the acrid burning of his first cigarette when he joined the army; it all coalesced and broke apart before he could make sense of it. His head was splitting in two.

A command rose above it all – complete the mission.

His jaw tightened and his eyes became distant.

What had he done? What had he done? What had he done? What had he done?

He raised the pistol slowly.

What had he done?

The infant reached out, wailing to be comforted.

WHAT HAD HE DONE?

He jumped, surprised to find his left arm buried in drywall. It wasn't snowing. In fact, it was downright sweltering. He was sitting upright on an old mattress, stained with his sweat. He drew back enough so he could observe the crater he had left behind, the dust from the blow swirling around him. He unclenched his fist and heard the subtle but distinct whirring of the gears within. He closed his eyes, his mouth was dry.

His flesh and blood arm reached out in the dark for the old lamp near his makeshift bed. The low light illuminated a small corner of the bare room but that was all he needed. He reached under the mattress and pulled out a small black journal with a pen attached to the cover.

The first sentence had been the most difficult to write:

 _My name is James Buchanan Barnes but my friends called me Bucky._

It had taken months of staring at blank paper to finally form the words. After that, they came to him like breathing air. Writing down a few simple sentences had thrilled him. It was almost as if with each bit he was reclaiming his identity. He read his earlier entries:

 _I had a best friend. His name was Steve._

 _I pulled him from the river. He didn't die._

He had hesitated.

 _I didn't kill him._

"I didn't kill him." He whispered to himself. It was a hollow reassurance but one that he needed. Of course, he hadn't killed him, he had watched Steve let out a gasping breath. He hadn't killed him. But he had been close. His stomach churned.

 _I had a mother and a father and a younger sister._

A pamphlet announcing the new Captain America exhibit within the Smithsonian slipped out. It was crinkled and worn at the corners. It had been strange to see his face on a memorial. It was unsettling but true to its meaning; he would never again be who he was, that person had died.

 _I was part of the 107th Infantry. I was a sergeant._

 _I fell off the train._

Again, a long pause between entries. He had begun to remember things after that, horrors stirring at the edges of his subconscious. He had opened and closed the journal many times since then but only to re-read what he had previously written. But there was still one last entry left to skim over. He was acutely aware that he had written it five months ago.

 _I met a girl. Her name is Emma._

He felt the familiar gnawing of guilt deep within his bones. Worse than that, her absence permeated his every waking moment. He was being eaten alive without the courtesy of a fast digestion. He glanced at the wall; he knew why he had desperately tried to break through it during his nightmare. The backpack he carried around as he moved from place to place was hidden behind the drywall. He was ready to run again.

It was easy to pick up and go, he mused. He had very little possessions. Anything he needed, like food or clothes, he could obtain along the way. He was fine with having no attachments. Except for one. If he reached within the backpack's inner pocket on the right he would find a shiny American penny. He had a few other currencies stashed away but that penny was the most valuable.

She had pressed it into his palm and given him a smile she didn't mean. "For luck."


	2. Praying

II: Praying

 **Six months ago**

The sun had long risen, its slanted rays peeked in from the windows and painted the walls with light. She was still in bed, wrapped in a threadbare sheet. A knock at her door broke into a quick-to-be-forgotten dream.

"Emma, food." Heavy footsteps creaked toward the further end of the hall and down the stairs. _Very talkative, that one_ , she thought to herself as she sat up in bed. She ran her hands through her hair, making sure her fingers grazed her scalp as closely as possible. Emma had a thick head of hair, both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, she could sculpt her mane into a multitude of beautiful and intricate styles; on the other, the amount of shampoo and conditioner she needed was horrendous, and frankly, a luxury she could not afford. She ran her hands through once more, this time a bit more slowly: it only felt greasy near the scalp, the rest still had enough life left in it for at least another two days.

She pulled the sheet off and swung her legs over the bed, bracing herself for the inevitable. Gently. Tenderly, she reminded herself. Her feet dangled above worn wooden flooring that had seen better days. She grimaced as she slowly stood and stretched, jolts of agony jumping from the arches of her feet. Stilettos were torture devices invented by men, she surmised.

The smell of cooked ham and buttered bread invaded her senses and stirred her stomach into a frenzy of growls. As she stood still to breathe it in for a moment, she clearly heard the scratch of a needle hitting the grooves of a record.

Emma smiled. It wasn't much but this was home.

She pulled her hair into a makeshift top knot and surveyed the damage: clothes were scattered in every direction, as if a family of ten shared this one small slice of a room. The black dress from last night was crumpled in a corner. She wrinkled her nose as she kicked it underneath her bed. Out of sight, out of mind. Picking up an old gray shirt, she slipped it on over herself and pulled it down till the hem hit mid-thigh. This would do, it was too early to be concerned about decency. She made her way to the end of the hall and down the same set of stairs Wolf had descended after knocking at her door.

A table full of food greeted her: sliced fruit, thick cuts of bread, strong coffee. It was a dream come true. Wolf was staying true to his name, sitting at the end of the table to himself and scarfing down bread and ham. His only acknowledgement of her existence was a barely perceptible head nod. He was pissed at her about last night. She loved Wolf but he was often cold and distant towards her if she didn't do exactly what he wanted. She could play this game, better than him too. Emma coolly made her way around him without looking at his direction, a feat in such a cramped kitchen.

"About time," said a voice from around the corner. "We thought you were already gone for the day!"

Picking up a plate, Emma peeked around and grinned. "Not without your famous ham." Felix was at the stove, cooking up a storm she wouldn't dare interrupt, returning the smile. He had always been her favorite. He began to sing along with the song playing from the record player. It was one from a record he played often, some American band called The Rolling Stones.

She piled her plate high, reaching over Wolf's plate to grab a knife and smear jam over a piece of bread. She glanced between the two as she did so – one constantly sulking, blonde, short but stocky; the other perpetually enthusiastic, brunette, tall and lanky. It was hard to believe they were brothers sometimes.

Wolf caught her contemplating. Not for the first time, she wondered if he could read her mind and simply kept it a secret. It would be so like him, keeping an ace up his sleeve. He took a slow sip of his black coffee and set it down harder than necessary. Emma stopped chewing, her stomach closing itself in like a vault. He was going to do this now. "Felix," he barked. "Fucking turn off that shit." The music abruptly ended and Felix came to stand near the table, frowning. She sensed his discomfort mixing in with her own. "We have to talk about last night."

"No." She stared at him, brown eyes meeting his blue. "I can't do it." She turned to Felix, hoping he would back her up but he quickly averted his gaze. " _We_ can't do it."

"There's 3 million euros-"

"Fuck the money," she pleaded. "We're no different from the people we ran away from if we do this." She went back to Felix, "Felix, say something." He shook his head, running his hands through his hair.

"Emma," Wolf leaned forward, his shoulders tense. "How do you think we're going to keep running without money?" He paused and whispered, "Who do you think they're going to go after if we say no? They will find others to do their dirty work and our heads will be the first ones on the list."

She glanced back and forth between the two again, shocked and angry. Ah, there was the similarity. They were both cowards. She slammed her hands on the table, standing up to leave. "Fucking unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. She walked into the adjacent living room and grabbed a pair of older jeans she had left in there a few days ago while folding laundry. She shimmied into the slim material, tucking the loose shirt in. She grabbed a pair of ancient gray loafers by the door.

"Emma," she heard Felix call over in the kitchen.

"Stop," Wolf said quietly. "Let her think about it."

The words caused something inside of her to snap in burning fury. The coffee pot on the stove shattered as she opened the door. "Fucking mature!" Wolf yelled as she slammed it shut and started off in a quick walk.

Tears burned her eyes as she put distance between herself and something unspeakable she was sure she could never do. A few minutes later, Emma realized she hadn't grabbed a jacket. The heat of the battle had worn off and the weary London weather began to set in. The sun was peeking through an armada of clouds and the wind was still but the permanent damp chill crept into bones. They had been living here for two years now, a big move from Florence. She wistfully remembered the hours she had spent reading books in the garden with a bottle of wine next to her. Felix had perfected a pasta recipe they had loved in a nearby restaurant. Wolf had met a girl and even brought her around for dinner once. She had thought it would be a definitive, their paradise out in Florence. And why not? They had scraped out of enough fights to deserve it. She knew now it had been a lull in the action. They would never be free.

Her left hand clasped her right forearm, covering a small tattoo that read **XA003** beneath the crease of her elbow. Wolf and Felix had similar ones except for a difference in the last number.

They could never be free.

Emma sighed deeply and crossed her arms, now deeply regretting her decision in attire. A young couple passed her. Their laughter and evident happiness only a blip on her radar that nevertheless left a sour taste in her mouth. A bitter twinge overtook her as she considered the cards she had been dealt; some people worried about their mortgages or when they were getting married. She was twenty-four and hadn't given much thought to either. An actual home of her own? It was difficult to imagine. Marriage was an entirely different beast she wasn't ready to approach. As if on cue, tolling bells broke into her momentary quarter life crisis.

A piercing church tower beckoned in the near distance. The echoing sound should have been ominous against the background of an impending thunderstorm yet she felt soothed. She had found sanctuary within a church in Berlin, shortly after running away with Wolf and Felix. Maybe she could find it again now that she needed it most.

She was almost inside, admiring the gothic architecture, when an old woman stopped her at the entrance. Her papery skin danced above the blue veins in her hand as she shakily held out a thin red wax candle and gave a toothless smile. What was left of her snowy hair was tied back, the shorter strands curling up near her ears like horns. She gave the impression of a frail bird. Emma began digging in her pockets for change when the woman shook her head and pointed inside.

"I'm sorry," Emma started. "I don't-"

The old woman smiled again, candle still held aloft. _Take it, dearie._ The woman said. _We all need a light in the dark._

Surprised but curious, Emma gave a soft nudge. _Thank you._

She gave a nod. _Go and find what you're looking for now, love. Go on._

Emma took a few steps forward and looked back. She knew there were others besides herself and Wolf but it still amazed her to find someone new. They had been labeled different things throughout the decades: Alphas, Inhumans, Indigo Children. These days, they were called Enhanced. It didn't change the fact that they were regularly hunted, highly sought-after weapons. Her heart grew heavy. She hoped she could forget the old woman's face.

Her footsteps resounded in the quiet and cavernous temple. The first peals of thunder rolled outside, startling her. It was very dimly lit by a few candles further in front of her, at the steps of what she guessed was the altar. Emma realized she wasn't sure which domination the church belonged to before quickly deciding it didn't matter. They were all meant for the same thing.

As she walked past the empty pews in the back, her eyes began to adjust to the dark. She saw she wasn't the only one taking shelter. Someone was bowed forward, a cap pulled low. Lightning flashed and she caught a glimpse of gloved hands holding an unlit red candle, an identical twin to hers.

She took a pew on the opposite side of the stranger as the rain began to pour down in sheets. She stared ahead, squinting. She couldn't make out much beyond the candlelight. That was appropriate; if there was a god she was praying to, she wasn't sure if they were there. Still, she felt the need to say something. Surely if there were some higher power out there, she would get a response. Emma took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth. But what should she say?

 _I'm sorry for everything that I've done._

She snapped to attention. Whose voice was that?

 _I regret everything I can remember. And what I can't._

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the stranger shift. Was it them? There was a deep remorse emanating from them, each wave growing stronger. She had accidentally tapped into it.

 _I want to take it all back like it never happened. I don't deserve forgiveness and I know I should pay for what I've done… but I can't bring myself to pull the trigger._

Emma pulled back. This person was suffering. Tremendously. She tapped at her candle with her forefinger for a moment, considering her options. She could leave and pretend she hadn't heard anything. Or…

She stood up and made her way towards the lit candles near the steps at the front. She dipped the wick of her candle towards a flame and watched as it replicated. She walked back to the stranger and cleared her throat.

"Excuse me."

The figure moved ever so slightly in response.

"Would you like a light?"

 _A light in the dark._

The very little sunlight that had poured through the stained-glass windows of the church was long gone. It was practically night. The intermittent lightning flashes reminded her of a lighthouse, the revolving beam calling out to lost ships. She squinted but could make out nothing more than a dim and solitary outline in front of her. An outline that did not acknowledge her at that. She was suddenly glad for the downpour otherwise the silence would have been deafening. She was about to turn around and leave when the person held out their candle, its wick coming into her view. She tipped hers forward and paused to let the flame catch. Emma was caught off guard to find a handsome man sitting in front of her. His dark hair brushed against his shoulders and it had been a few days since he last shaved. He had a straight nose, a sharp jawline, and a full pout; he was like those models she saw on magazine covers who could cut diamonds with their abs. More importantly, she doubted she would stop swooning over those big blue eyes any time soon. He studied her with piercing intensity. She quickly drew back her candle, aware that she was not at her best. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in vain.

"Thank you."

And he speaks, she thought. "You're welcome."

The thunderstorm was still raging outside but she felt flustered enough to take her chances. She blew out her candle and paused for a moment before setting it down near the entrance. Someone else could use it. Thunder roared above, an injured beast claiming everything the darkness engulfed as its own. If she had thought the walk here was bad, it was nothing compared to what she was going to face now. Emma grimaced. Or what was waiting for her. She began the run home.

Inside the church, Bucky sat in silence but his mind was churning away. He hadn't spoken a word in weeks. It didn't bother him. He didn't have much to say. The way others looked at him when he did venture out in public also put him off from trying to start conversation at all. Bucky knew it could have been his questionable, and admittedly scruffy, appearance but he couldn't get away from the voice in the back of his head. **You're a monster and they can sense it. They know.**

He flinched, hating how it all came back to him like a punch in the gut. Flashes of hundreds (no, thousands) of faces inundated his mind. He had created an ocean of blood and he was drowning in it. The flashes stopped on one face. There had been an old man. A gray old man, with blood trickling down his left temple, that had stared at him with a gleam of recognition.

" _Sergeant Barnes?"_

Bucky closed his eyes. He would give anything to escape this hell. He deserved to burn in it; but he longed to be free.

He glanced at the altar, where a single cross stood. He hoped for redemption.

The flame in his hands flickered and died.

* * *

Felix gave the floor near the stove another sweep with an old broom. He kept finding shards of glass with each pass. He sighed. Since day one, Wolf and Emma were constantly at odds with one another. They got along most of the time but their fuses were too short. When an argument sparked, it ignited. The result was, for lack of a better word, explosive. It would be fine if they weren't Enhanced, like him. As it stood, they now needed a new coffeepot.

He glanced at the blackened oven. It had burst into fire just as Wolf blew a gasket after Emma left.

"They're going to tear this pile of shit apart before it falls in on itself," he muttered to himself.

The door slammed open, the wind and rain rushing inside. For a moment, he thought it was Wolf but that was impossible. He had left for the bar not long after the oven fire was extinguished. He wouldn't be quick to return.

It was Emma. Her hair and clothes were dripping water while her skin was covered in goosebumps. He could hear her teeth chattering as she stumbled towards the stairs.

"Emma," He called. He needed to apologize before she disappeared to her room. He should have backed her up earlier.

She appeared around the corner, twisting a towel through the ends of her hair. Her eyes fixed on his. "Yes?"

Felix felt his heart beat a bit faster. He had been in love with Emma for years now, since they were children. But it was one of those sentiments that was better left unspoken. The feeling wouldn't be reciprocal. He knew that. It stung but he could live with it. He hated whenever Wolf elegantly brought the subject up. It happened from time to time, often when they were drinking together.

 _Make a fucking move. Or someone else will._

 _It's not like that._

 _You have no balls._

"Felix?"

She was an attractive girl, with universally appealing bright brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. Fairly small in stature, she made up for it with her svelte figure. Her skin was fair; she wore a sun-kissed tan during their time in Florence but it was long gone now. Her dark brown rope of hair was beautiful in the light, where the copper undertones of her hair flared to life. Emma was lovely in her perfections. Yet he found he preferred her flaws. She had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He could still trace the faint scar on the Cupid's bow of her lips. His gaze went to the spot on her forearm where they had all been marked in ink.

The bastards had branded them like cattle.

A snap of fingers in front of his face brought him back from dangerous territory. Emma was staring at him, her eyebrows knitted together.

"I, uh," Felix cleared his throat. "I wanted to say that I'm an idiot, for earlier, during breakfast. I should've… said something." He scratched the back of his head, feeling beyond awkward. He was distracted by her wet hair and flushed skin.

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and laughed. "It's fine. I can handle Wolf on my own."

He gave a shy smile. "You shouldn't have to."

"You're sweet, Felix." She smiled back. "Never change." With that, she went upstairs and left Felix standing there, locking away the love he had for her back in his heart and closing the door.

A few blocks away, Bucky was climbing stairs at around the same time Emma was. His set was within a decrepit apartment building, full of mold and peeling wallpaper. He jogged up the last few metal steps, setting off puffs of rust under his heels.

He made it to the second to last floor and took a right. He stopped at the unit on the corner with the faulty door. He fished for a silver key in his jacket pocket and jiggled the knob to the left twice before turning right to open it.

From far away, he heard a small voice say, _"It's got character, Buck."_

 _An eight-year-old Steve Rogers was walking towards him with a ridiculously large bike he could barely hang on to. Well, he supposed it was a bike. It looked more like a death trap. Especially with the way the thing squealed in protest, like it was begging to be taken to the dump and put out of its misery._

 _Bucky wrinkled his nose. "Whaddaya doing with that piece of junk?"_

 _Steve grinned, his arms shaking from the effort to keep the bike upright. "It's not a piece of junk. It's a Schwinn. Got her from one of those older kids that's always hanging around the diner on 5th. They only wanted three dollars."_

" _Steve," Bucky chided. "They robbed you like a sucker. That thing isn't worth the time you took to bring it here."_

" _Aw, come on. It's got character, Buck." Steve shook his head, quickly correcting himself. "And it's not an it, it's a she." He grunted, setting the bike down gently on the front lawn. "You'll help me clean her up, right?"_

 _Bucky was skeptical they would be able to do much besides heave it to the trash by the curb. But when he looked at Steve's face, expectantly waiting that his best friend would always have the answer to everything, he found he couldn't say no. "Come on, my dad should have some stuff in the garage. We're going to need a lot of elbow grease to get this old dame going again."_

" _That's what we'll name her!" Steve shouted. "The Old Dame!"_

Finally, he thought. A good memory.

He closed the door behind him and flicked on the light switch to his right. A full-sized bed, neatly made, was the first thing in front of him when he entered. To the right, a small table with a solitary chair. He eyed the bag of chips (no, they were called crisps here) on top of the refrigerator as he started to remove his gloves.

His left hand gleamed as he took off his cap. Normally, the sight of it was enough to upset him. Even when he was alone, Bucky did his best to cover it up. It was the smoking gun, so to speak. The biggest reminder of what he had once been under HYDRA's command. However, he would not dwell on it today. He had shelter, he had food, he had a good memory to keep him warm during the night; he would fight against the past tonight, it wouldn't overtake him. He wasn't the Winter Soldier anymore. He was… well, he was still figuring that out.

Bucky let the soaked jacket fall to the floor in a drenched mess before peeling off the dark red long sleeve shirt underneath. He had stuck to a strict workout regimen to keep himself lean and ready to fight or run, whichever made more sense at the time. His diet wasn't as strict – for the first time in decades, he could choose his meals. He was making the most of it, taking in the miracles of modern cooking. Everything had been boiled in his day.

In my day, he thought. His mouth filled with the familiar aftertaste of bitter self-pity. The statement was echoing around the hollows of his mind, bouncing off the blurry faces of his family, his friends, and all the people he had ever known. Not for the first time, loneliness began to sink its claws into him.

He glanced at the jacket on the floor. Bucky had stuffed two red wax candles in his left pocket, the burnt wicks sticking out to wave hello.

At the pub across the street, Wolf was also saying hello. To his fifth shot of whiskey, that is. He gave a grunt as the liquor burned like dragon fire before mellowing down his esophagus where it curled into a warm glow in his belly. He motioned with two fingers towards himself at the bartender behind the counter.

"Keep them coming," he muttered. He plunked down a wrinkled ten euro note.

The bartender shot him an uneasy look but poured another three shots. He knew when to keep his mouth shut when there was a paying customer. Or when a man had a death wish. This poor bastard happened to fall into both categories.

Wolf took one of the shots in his right hand, swirling it around a bit, that liquid gold caressing the rim of the glass as he did so. He was the only one sitting right at the bar tonight, his balance on the stool negatively correlating with the amount of liquor he was ingesting. The mirror behind the bartender reflected a good portion of the pub behind Wolf, effectively letting him watch his back. A cherry wood paneling plastered the walls, the color nicely offset by the low lighting provided by the Edison bulbs hanging above each table. The pub was mostly empty except for a few stragglers here and there. Certainly a rarity on a Friday night. The storm was a good excuse to stay sober tonight or do some at-home drinking.

Not Wolf. He would rather be anywhere than back home right now.

He put the shot down and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and winced. His eyes were bloodshot, his face sallow and tinged with a gray shade. He looked like a corpse, fresh from the kill. He involuntarily shivered at the thought.

He would be the one bringing in bodies soon.

Without hesitating a second longer, he took all three shots in front of him, one after the other. "Fucking shit." A sharp pain pierced beneath the layers of muscle and skin near his right eyebrow.

Wolf pressed the heel of his palm against his temple and grimaced. By protecting the three of them from their deaths, would he lead them to something much worse? Something they could never come back from? He loved Emma and Felix, so fiercely it was more than he could put into words. But it was this devotion that had cost him to make a choice.

They needed protection from Hunters. They would bow down to the most powerful Enhanced they had ever met. In exchange for their lives and protection (and a good sum of money), they would bring in others like themselves. Dead or alive.

Emma had immediately protested, shooting up like a rocket, shouting, _You better fucking kill me now!_ She was a good person, that Emma. It was easy to see why his brother would follow her to the ends of the Earth like a lovesick dog. Which made him feel more like shit for the way he was treating her.

" _Wear the black dress."_

 _Emma scrunched her nose, disgust plainly written on her face. Felix sat next to her at the kitchen table, looking uncomfortable._

" _Come on, he likes that one." She wouldn't win this battle and she knew it. Emma rolled her eyes and grudgingly went upstairs to search for the offending garment. Felix opened his mouth as soon as Emma was out of earshot to protest on her behalf but Wolf held up a hand to cut him off. "If he's distracted by her, he's less of a threat."_

 _His brother frowned. "She's the distraction now?"_

 _Wolf snorted. "As far as you're concerned, she's always been the distraction."_

 _The table shook but no one had made a move. Wolf stared at him with open surprise. A thin trail of blood crawled from Felix's left nostril. He dabbed at it, looking shocked himself._

" _Well," Wolf muttered. "I'll be damned. You do have some fight in you after all." He stood up from the table, clapping Felix on the back. He rounded the corner and shouted up the stairs. "Emma, stilettos."_

 _An indecipherable screech of rage resounded throughout the house._

He would make it up to the both of them. As soon as this nightmare was over, they would disappear from the face of the fucking planet. They would go to Iceland to buy their freedom. He had heard rumors of an Enhanced in those parts: a woman, a legendary hacker, that could make it look like someone had never been born. No records, no digital fingerprint, nothing. And once that was done, they were going to do whatever the hell they damn well pleased. Wolf paused, the thought of Florence crossing his mind for the millionth time; he could apologize to Valeria for leaving so suddenly. He could… they could-

A blinding flash of heat split his head in half as it met the edge of the bar. He was too dazed to immediately notice the meaty hand closed like a vice at the base of the neck.

"One more for good measure."

The second smash against the bar was sickening. The fresh blood flowing from the newly made gash made a sound - **twack**.

"That will do it."

The nameless claw released him and he lost his balance, falling flat on his back off the stool. The back of his head suffered a third blow from the whiplash of gravity.

"Fucking hell," he gasped.

A deep voice growled out, "Fucking hell, indeed." A clap, then the slow sizzle of hands being rubbed together. Wolf slowly registered the wisps of expensive cologne and the click of leather shoes as a man approached him. A pale hand reached out and Wolf wildly thought it looked like the skeletal hand of the Grim Reaper. The man pulled him up by the front of his shirt and Wolf saw he hadn't been wrong. Death had come. Cold steel eyes buried their gaze into him. "We have business to discuss."

Back at home, the only business Emma had that night was figuring out how to go to sleep. She had climbed into bed, closed her eyes, but her brain refused to close shop for the night. After some tossing and turning (and eventually a few minutes of yoga and a playlist), she had resigned herself to another bout of insomnia. There was a nagging thought wandering through her, leaving a slimy trail wherever it went: Could she do this?

Emma reached for the top drawer of her bedside table where an unopened red packet of Gauloises greeted her like an old friend. She had given up smoking years ago but she still carried it around, waiting for moments like this. She took the pack in her hands, spinning it around and tossing it from hand to hand as she sat on the bed, miles away from her body.

She closed her eyes to study her options. She was suddenly in a white room, standing in front of a shelf that held different colored glass orbs. They were heavy, resting on a wooden carving of a clawed hand. She gingerly picked up a red one, the fiery tones shifting angrily inside. If she didn't cooperate, Echis would come for them. He wouldn't kill them right away, he wasn't kind enough to do them the favor. Emma turned the orb in her hands, peering inside. She saw the three of them frantically throwing their possessions in packs, gearing up to run away, the door of their home was ripped open, Wolf yelled, Felix shouted, Emma screamed. She backed out of the vision. No, they wouldn't have enough time to run away if they refused.

Sighing, she replaced the red orb and picked up the one next to it. It was a stunning shade of emerald. She glimpsed a man on his knees, begging for his life as Wolf stood behind him, a knife in his hand. Emma jumped, quickly returning that one back in its place.

She glanced between the two orbs. Quite a selection.

She covered her face with her hands, ready to scream in frustration, when she heard the distinct _whoosh_ of a new choice. She lifted her head to find a third orb had appeared next to the other two, this one a beautiful azure. Hungry for anything, Emma grabbed the orb and looked inside. A cloudy image of two red wax candles floated in front of her; it dissolved before she could wonder what it meant.

"Not much," she said aloud, frowning.

A shuddering breath and she was back in her room, still sitting cross-legged on top of her bed. The rain steadily pelted the walls and windows. It was as stormy here as it had been in her head.

"Now what?" she muttered. The pack of Gauloises in her hands winked at her. She paused for a moment before ripping it open.

* * *

Author's note: I've smushed what was previously chapter 3 into this chapter as well. Nothing has changed content-wise. The line break after Bucky's moment in the church is the end of chapter 2 and the beginning of what was chapter 3. If you were caught up, you've missed nothing so far!

I hate writing short chapters (2k words or less). I'll be making an effort to combine chapters in my drafts to avoid deleting/rewriting after chapters are posted. Thanks!


	3. Chance

III: Chance

 _He was always presentable. Tonight was no different. He wore a crisp black suit that was tailored to perfection. He was clean shaven with his dark hair slicked back. As she followed Wolf and Felix into the plush booth, Emma supposed he would have been attractive in another life. There were traces of the handsome man he once was: a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, strong hands. These were things Emma would have normally found appealing but there were other features about Echis that eclipsed his blessings. His skin had a waxy tinge, making him look a notch less than human. He slipped enough into the uncanny valley to make her uncomfortable._

 _And those eyes._

 _When Wolf had showed her the files he had managed to snatch from a recent raid, there was a photograph of Echis as a subject. His eyes had been brown then. They were now a chilling shade of flint. 'The injections,' Wolf had explained. 'They change you.'_

" _Ah," Echis clapped his hands once and rubbed them together a few times. It reminded Emma of a snake hissing in anticipation of a meal. "My favorite trio." He lingered on her, flashing a sinister smile. "Mademoiselle Emmanuelle, lovely as ever."_

 _Emma's stomach twisted. To her left, Wolf gave a small nudge with his right leg. She cleared her throat. "Thank you."_

 _The classical music playing in the restaurant was low and the hum of quiet conversation buzzed around them. An air of exclusivity mixed with the scent of buttered lobster and strong wine. These were refined people with posh tastes. They wore silk dresses or designer suits and slept in luxurious mansions that were too cold and sterile to be called homes. Emma had immediately felt out of place as soon as they arrived. Still, there would always be a pecking order, even in these circles. The restaurant was split into an upper and lower level. Those on the second floor were the shot callers. They looked down from their booths by the balcony at the peasants seated beneath them at round tables._

 _Wolf dug into his pockets and pulled out a small plastic bag, almost the size of his thumbnail. Inside, was a miniscule computer chip. They had gone through hell to get it – weeks of following leads, getting to the right people, and finally raiding the HYDRA storage unit. It had been a treasure trove of secrets but they had been interested in this one specific bit. Echis paid them very generously for these retrieval assignments. More importantly, he kept the Hunters away._

 _Still, it bothered Emma that they did his dirty work. He would dispose of them eventually, she was sure of it. The three of them, they were a bargaining chip in a bigger game he was playing. The whole thing sickened her. Wolf insisted there were worse things to be paid for, so she went along for the ride._

 _Besides, they never hurt anyone. They were in and out, only digging for whatever piece of information Echis wanted._

 _It was harmless._

If I knew then what I know now, she thought grimly. She gave one last drag on her cigarette before tossing it to the ground and snuffing it out with the heel of a nearby shoe. The clock across the room announced it was a quarter past one in the morning in bright red numbers. She was too restless to sit here for the rest of the night and watch the minutes tick by. Emma gently padded out the door and down the hallway, her bare feet making little noise as she descended the stairs. She had promptly changed out of her wet clothes at the first opportunity, swapping them for cozy black sweatpants and an old green shirt with a hole near the shoulder. She thought back to the women she had seen the other night at the restaurant, with their stupidly expensive designer dresses. A Dolce & Gabbana girl she was not.

The interior of the house was lit by the occasional flash of lightning. She worked well in this semi-darkness, searching through the kitchen cupboards and pantry. As she set the kettle on the stove for a cup of tea, Emma saw Felix laying on the couch. His snoring was almost drowned out by the pelting rain. Almost.

"Wolf isn't home," she whispered to herself. It wasn't odd for him to be out late but it was unthinkable of him to be apart from Felix. She was sure they had gone out together after she had left. After all, the two were practically inseparable. Emma came and went, she was a part of the pack but only because she was allowed to be. There weren't any blood ties to keep her there.

The statement nestled itself into her brain, curling up like an insidious centipede. She could make a run for it now. If Wolf and Felix wanted to dig their own graves, why should she do the same? A mental image of wax candles enticed her, calling out to her even though she couldn't pinpoint why.

Felix gave a particularly loud snore, startling her. She smiled, walking over to where he laid on the couch. Maybe they weren't blood, but they were her brothers, weren't they? They irritated her beyond disbelief but she couldn't imagine life without them. They had lived and escaped the horrors of their childhood together. She would face the horrors waiting for them now as well, although she wasn't sure they would live to tell the tale this time. Emma brushed back a piece of hair that had fallen over Felix's forehead, only briefly registering the squeal of tires outside.

Voices shouted over the noise of rain and burning rubber. She perked up as she heard an unmistakable cry of pain, a thump, and a vehicle peeling off at high speed. Felix shot up as Emma opened the door to peer outside. A man was lying face down in the middle of the street. His right arm was crumpled and bent at an odd angle. Her breath hitched in her throat for a moment. "Wolf!" she screamed and ran to his side, her clothes instantly cold and heavy from the unrelenting storm.

She hadn't noticed Felix followed her out of the house. He appeared from thin air, deftly flipping Wolf over on his back, and pulling his head into his lap. Wolf's nose and upper lip were coated with clumps of dried blood. A purple bruise was beginning to blossom across the right side of his face. Her fingers searched for a pulse near the base of his neck.

"Is he alive?" Felix hovered above him, shielding his brother against the onslaught of water and hail.

Emma nodded. She wouldn't tell him the pulse was weak. "We have to get him inside!" They both turned to look at his twisted arm but said nothing. Felix threw Wolf's left arm over his shoulders and slowly began to stand while Emma supported Wolf on his right, wrapping her left arm around his waist and avoiding his broken limb as much as possible.

As they slowly shuffled inside the old house, Bucky was laying down on the bed in his apartment. He felt anxious about sleeping on a mattress, like he was going to sink in at any moment. It was too… comfortable and soft. Sighing, he grabbed the pillow underneath his head and moved to the floor. He let out a breath of relief at the feeling of solid ground beneath him. He originally started off on his back, closing his eyes and pretending he felt sleep coming on. As minutes trickled into hours, he tossed to his left, then his right. He let out a growl of frustration and rolled onto his back once more. Staring at the water stained ceiling above him, insomnia greeted him like an old friend.

 _A man in an expensive suit lay on the ground at his feet. His fingers were heavy with gold rings._

" _Please don't kill me! I have children!"_

 _The Winter Soldier stared him down with cold indifference. The man saw his fate was sealed and began to weep._

Bucky sat up, his right knee rising to meet his elbow. He rested his forehead against his right hand. Insomnia had brought his other friend: guilt. It was true, his body had operated like a machine running a program while the small fragment of humanity that remained inside of him screamed for help. Still, that wasn't an excuse. **He should have done something**. People died because he hadn't been able to break through HYDRA's brainwashing.

He was a failure.

He was an accomplice, a willing participant to the innumerable slaughters the Winter Soldier had committed. He was damned, he was a complete abomination, he was-

He wasn't going to do this tonight. He got to his feet and strolled toward the round dining table to his left, pushing it a few inches until a loose floorboard popped up ever so slightly, free from the pressure of the table's gravity. Gently, Bucky wiggled it back and forth until the board had enough leeway to reveal a journal, a backpack, and a gun. He grabbed the journal and pulled a flashlight out of the backpack before positioning the floorboard halfway back to its original position. He settled back onto his spot on the floor, shone the flashlight on the first page, and began to read out loud.

Softly, he said, "My name is James Buchanan Barnes but my friends called me Bucky."

Yes, a small voice agreed in his head. He was Bucky. Not past Bucky, not 1940s Bucky, but an in-progress Bucky. It would do, for now.

"I had a best friend," he continued. "His name was Steve."

In his mind's eye, he saw a skinny kid holding up a monstrous bike, smiling brightly at him; then a frail young man in a suit, nervous about a double date; then a tall stranger with a familiar voice asking him if he was ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death.

" _Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. I'm following him."_

Bucky opened the journal wider, letting the pencil he had tucked between the last page and the back cover drop out into his hand. He flipped a few pages ahead, where he had started a small section for drawings. They were often nonsensical images, at least to him. The first one was of a ferris wheel by a body of water. The next, a boxing ring. He knew these must have been places he had visited but they flashed by so quickly he couldn't grasp the context. The third and most recent drawing was still in the works. It was a little boy sitting on the ground, his face hidden from view. He was stuffing great handfuls of crumpled paper into shoes. Bucky positioned the flashlight between his neck and shoulder and began adding details here and there. The boy had been wearing shorts that went to his knees. Suspenders attached at the front and back of the waist assured they would stay in place. The clothes were too big for a boy his size, even if they were made for a boy his age. There was an open doorway behind him, streaming rays of sunlight illuminating a dark room. By the door, an old pair of men's work boots collecting dust. Bucky took a second to evaluate the picture and felt a swell of pride. He was getting better at recall.

A flash of lightning and then the strike – the building shook against its rage. Bucky returned the journal and switched off the light. He wished he could switch off just as easily. He laid there on the floor, watching the shadows dance on the walls and ceiling for what felt like hours. Eventually, his eyes felt heavy and he began to have a sinking sensation. Almost like he was falling.. falling…

 _The snow fell in thick clumps, not bothering to arrange itself into delicate flakes. Bucky let out a shaky breath. He watched as it condensed into a small bit of fog and then quickly dissipated before his next breath replaced it. His skin was jaundiced and stretched tight over his bones. He put his left hand over his stomach in an attempt to quiet the never-ending rumble and brushed by his jutting ribs on the way. He hadn't looked in a mirror for months now but he would hazard a guess that he resembled a skeleton more than a person._

 _He would kill for a cheeseburger right now._

 _Who the hell was he kidding? He'd give his arm just to stand next to a burger these days._

" _Barnes," Dugan called behind him. "Stop slacking off."_

 _Bucky stayed where he was, staring out a barely open window, desperate for fresh air. He wasn't exactly sure where HYDRA was keeping them but he saw a mountain range close by._

' _Good place for a POW camp,' he darkly mused. 'If we try to escape, we're popsicles.'_

 _A hand on his shoulder made him jump and turn. He hadn't heard Dugan's heavy footsteps above the rest of the racket going on around them. The other POWs were working on a sophisticated piece of machinery, courtesy of HYDRA. The rumor was they were building a plane but no one had ever seen a plane like this._

 _Dugan squinted, his mouth barely moving. "They're watching." He whispered._

 _Bucky focused behind Dugan. There were two HYDRA foot soldiers staring right at him, muttering a few words back and forth. He managed to catch one word by reading their lips, one single German word repeated over and over:_ _ **sterben.**_

 _Dying._

 _He was dying._

 _Well, he had made it this far, served his country, and kicked some Nazi ass. Would they at least have mercy and give him over to the firing squad? He had an odd but brief impulse to laugh as he imagined himself marching right on over there, fanatically smiling and yelling, 'Yes sir, you're right! I'm a dead man walking!'_

 _Dugan gave him a good shake. "Bucky, snap out of it before-"_

 _It was too late. The two HYDRA soldiers were coming towards them._

 _A baby was crying in the distance._

 _Wait, that wasn't right… there were no babies around these parts. His head spun wildly as the soldiers grabbed him underneath his arms and dragged him away. He thought he saw a young woman, holding what he assumed was a swaddled infant. She was completely out of place yet no one seemed to notice her. He blinked twice but there was no mistaking it: there was a gaping exit wound at the side of her head. They stared at each other as he was taken through the double doorway, her painted lips parted to scream as the bundle in her arms began to stain the white linen with red._

Bucky jerked awake, the sound still reverberating in his ears. He was covered with a sheen of cold sweat. The gray shirt he had gone to sleep in was soaked along his chest and down his back. His throat felt like it had been scraped raw by a couple of rusty razor blades. Had he been the one screaming? He ran a hand through his hair. His heart was a car picking up speed, racing towards a cliff. He steadied his breathing.

It's in the past, he thought. Don't think about it. It's in the past, it's in the stupid past.

It was his mantra whenever shit hit the fan - it was all in the past. It was tough to wake up every morning, knowing he was alive and had to make something of himself. It sounded simple: create a new life, be a good person, earn your worth. But it proved a daunting task. He had to constantly look ahead when everything kept pulling him back, back to the nightmares he had created. It was difficult but he found if he kept reminding himself to live in the present and build towards the future, it became slightly bearable to move forward. Having a routine helped.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands announced it was just past six in the morning. His first work-out session of the day started at five-thirty every morning. He was a bit behind schedule. Pulling off his shirt, Bucky tossed it in a nearby laundry basket. He didn't have a full wardrobe but he kept a few things around when he could lie low in one place for a while. He had been in London for almost a month now. He guessed he could stay another month at most without blowing his cover.

He grabbed a belt near the basket and looped it around an old exposed beam on the ceiling. He wrapped his right hand once around the end he was holding onto and gave a tug. After he was assured his upstairs neighbor wouldn't be coming down for a surprise visit, Bucky easily hoisted himself up and down using his right arm. His own body weight was a good challenge; his left arm was dead weight when it wasn't in use. He continued doing pull-ups, repeating the motion as he idly wondered what he would choose to do today.

Life for Bucky had begun again after the battle on the Triskelion above D.C. And living again meant autonomy, a tricky concept for someone who hadn't even had a name for decades. So he set a major ground rule: he had to make at least three decisions for himself every day. At first, he used his three strikes for food only. Did he want to eat an entire pizza for breakfast? Yes. Did he want to try Thai? Yes. Dessert? Hell yes. After making food related choices had become second nature, he slowly extended it to other aspects of his life. Did he want to take a walk? What should he read today? There were so many tv shows and movies now; which did he want to watch? These were little things but they were the things that had given him control over himself once more. He was Bucky, whatever that meant now.

As he wrapped up his routine and took a quick shower, he was still debating how to use his three choices for the day. He wasn't particularly up for breakfast just yet, the nightmare was still too fresh in his mind for his uneasy stomach. Bucky pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a black long sleeve, gazing out a nearby window. The clouds had long left and the sun was enjoying its chance to shine. The pavement was still wet and he could see that the street was partially flooded. It was still early. Being a Saturday, there weren't many people out. They were all still at home, nursing hangovers from the night before.

A walk it was. First choice of the day. It's a start, he thought.

He grabbed a pair of running shoes and black gloves that had both seen better days. He debated wearing a jacket on his way out but decided it might look suspicious, as if the cap and gloves he wore weren't calling him out already.

Bucky took the winding steps down at an easy pace. Average rate, that was his other mantra. The average American man takes 109 steps a minute. The average human male can reach speeds of up to 15 miles per hour. He was anything but average but he had to keep appearances while he was in public. He took a left at the front of the building, going on a well beaten path in his mind. He knew all the streets, alleyways, and roundabouts within a twenty mile radius of his apartment. The church was the exception; he had stepped out of the safe circumference of his perimeter yesterday night. It was… out of character for him. But it had been a big development, it had been a major choice. His choice.

As Bucky kept a good (average) pace, the aromas of a nearby food stall wafted by on a delicate breeze. He stopped, taking a moment to appreciate it. Spicy, tender beef. His mouth watered. An accompanying sizzle accentuated the scent, a bold exclamation point at the end of a delicious sentence he was ready to pronounce. There was food back at the apartment, the reasonable part of him reminded. He didn't need to spend money he didn't have.

Another sizzle.

Damn it all.

He ordered one of the specials: a take out box filled with fluffy white rice, topped with a generous portion of succulent beef drenched in an aromatic stew, and a side of crisp spring mix vegetables. Bucky had barely paid before he was scarfing it all down on a nearby bench. Slow down, average pace. How fast does the average person eat? Who the hell cares?

After he had stuffed himself and began picking at the last few bits, he heard a small whimper. A shaggy dog had approached someone else at the food stall. He was a medium sized dog, obviously a stray but not aggressive. He was covered in cracked mud, the aftermath of yesterday's storm. Even though the dog seemed friendly, no one was charmed by the mutt. He was promptly shooed, running a few feet away but cautiously trying to approach the stall again. Without thinking, Bucky gave a whistle. The dog's ears perked up and quickly came to sit at his feet, happily panting now that he was noticed.

"Here," he told the dog, setting down his leftovers on the ground. He couldn't help but smile as the dog's tail went wagging into double time, eagerly lapping up scraps of meat and rice. Bucky stood up and put his hands in his pockets, thinking about going back to the apartment, when he felt a nudge at the back of his leg.

The dog gave a short bark and licked his left hand. Bucky hesitated before kneeling down to give a scratch behind the ear. "Good boy," he said before standing up to leave again. But the dog wasn't having it, not at all. He followed confidently next to Bucky, as if they had planned this little meet up for months. Bucky didn't have the heart to turn the mutt away, not after how faithful he turned out to be. Just tonight, he thought, a bath and a bed for the night and tomorrow he would be off to a rescue shelter.

Instead of going back to the apartment right away, Bucky wandered around the city with his new companion. He enjoyed the crisp air, the blue sky, this simple act of freedom. There were more people out and about now that early morning had passed. He was surprised to find he wasn't as jumpy as he would normally be in a crowd. He glanced at the dog next to him, who had reassuringly nuzzled his hand throughout the journey. Well, maybe there was something to be said here.

He noticed about halfway there that his feet were taking him back to the church. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he wanted to go back for a second visit. His gut told him it was the right thing to do today. Choice number three, he thought, and it's not even noon yet.

As they neared the entrance, Bucky felt his pockets for spare change but he didn't see the old woman who had given him the red candle the other night. He had hoped to repay her. Bucky took a seat in the pew at the very back of the church. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Something about this place was soothing to the soul and quieted the voices in his head that called out to him. He hoped to lose himself in the silence for just a few moments of bliss. However, he had no such luck. His new friend had settled down near his feet, splayed out on his side and content as could be. Without warning, he took off like a bullet towards a pew further up front and on the opposite side.

Emma laughed when the energetic dog practically jumped into her lap. He rolled over, politely asking for a belly rub which she agreed to. She quickly wiped her tear stained face when she saw the owner approaching out of her peripheral vision. It was the man from the other night.

"Your dog likes mud," she smiled and picked a few chunks out of the pup's ears.

Bucky shifted from side to side, hands in his pockets. "He's not my dog." At her questioning glance, he added, "He came up to me this morning. Been following me around since."

"He's a stray?" Emma stood up and gave him one last scratch around the ears. "He's friendly, he must have run away from someone." When Bucky said nothing, she started to walk away. "See you around," she said, more out of habit than sentiment.

Bucky's fingers brushed up against what was in his pockets. When had he taken them out of his jacket? He couldn't remember. "Wait." He pulled out half of a red wax candle and held it out. "You left this behind."

Emma could only stare at the piece. That was the third image she had seen last night, the red wax candle. She wasn't great at reading fates but clearly this person would be involved in her life. It was up to her to decide how. A friend was better than an enemy, especially in these times. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

He hesitated before a familiar face came to mind. "Steve."

It was her turn to pause. She didn't believe him. His mannerisms, the way he moved, how he spoke. None of it screamed Steve. But that was fine, she wouldn't prod. She took the broken candle from his outstretched right hand and slipped in her own, squeezing gently. "Emma." They met each other's eyes and a flash of heat ripped through her. He was absolutely thrilling to look at, wasn't he? She became very conscious of the fact that she was in a pair of jogger pants, her faithful but worn green tee, and the same loafers as yesterday. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and her earlier crying spell. Her hair was sitting in a tangled knot at the top of her head in a style that should have been called 'can't be bothered'. Fucking hell, she was a mess. Wait, was she still holding his hand? Oh shit, she was. She awkwardly took a step back and thankfully the dog was kind enough to direct attention back to himself with a bark. "And yours?"

"He doesn't have a name," Bucky said, not sure if he was still talking about the dog or himself.

Emma leaned down giving the pup another scratch. "Everyone needs a name. How about… Chance?"

Chance licked her hand in agreement.

"You there!" All three turned towards a very angry, very balding maintenance man near the altar. "You must be daft." His face scrunched as he took in Chance's shabby coat. "Bringing a mutt like that in the house of God!"

Bucky felt a brief moment of panic but was eased when he saw Emma flash him a mischievous smile. "Sorry sir," she called out. "We didn't know God hated dogs, we'll be on our way." She grinned and motioned outside. "Come on."

Chance leaped at the front to lead his newly formed pack. He proudly cleared the path for Emma and Bucky as they exited the church. Bucky felt a jolt as he realized that, for the first time in years, he was walking alongside someone who simply wanted his company.

* * *

Author's notes:

It begins! Doesn't it feel like Bucky needed to have a dog in the MCU?


	4. Nightmares

IV: Nightmares

They walked along the path Bucky had traced with Chance earlier, mostly because Chance was still guiding them along this little tour of the city. They had strolled along in silence, it was a comfortable quiet. Yet, it was at this point, Bucky also realized normal people made conversation. They spoke about their lives, their occupations, their families.. he nixed those subjects. None of those were things he could talk about. Still, there had to be something. Bucky mentally recapped the last seventy years or so, according to what he could remember. Should he tell her about the time he killed President Kennedy? Don't be stupid, he thought. Well, damn. What the hell could he say?

"It's uh, nice outside today."

Emma bit back a laugh. Oh god, she thought, he's going to try to small talk. "It is." She replayed his voice in her head and said, "Where are you from?" He looked up from the ground, a spark of uneasiness evident in those blue eyes. Jumpy, she concluded. "Your accent sounds American."

"New York." He smiled without meaning to. He saw his old neighborhood, heard his mom calling out to him to come inside as the sun was going down. "Brooklyn." He instantly regretted being specific.

But her genuine excitement at the response made him less wary. "New York? I've always wanted to go to New York."

"Your accent sounds French." He blurted out. He needed to work on his conversational transitions. Why was socializing so stressful?

Emma didn't notice Bucky's internal distress and took the question in stride. "It is but I haven't stepped in France for years." She gave a bitter chuckle. "The accent is the only thing I have left from there."

"It's a beautiful language."

She was taken aback by the solemn tone of his statement. He didn't say much, but the little he did say was sincere. Still, she couldn't help but tease. "Do they speak French in Brooklyn?"

"Seulement quand nous causons des problèmes," he replied without missing a beat. Emma laughed, pulling another smile from Bucky as well. His face was starting to hurt but he liked her laugh.

"I'm impressed," Emma admitted. "Where did you learn to speak perfect French?"

He clenched his jaw, piecing together a half truth that he could remember later. "I was in the army. Traveled around for a while."

She nodded, noting the shift in his demeanor. He withdrew back into himself again. PTSD, maybe? Emma glanced at him from time to time, studying the rhythmic sound of his steps. They were off, just a bit. He walked with a lean emphasized on his left. An old war wound? And speaking of wounds, she had to get back home where Felix was anxiously tending to Wolf. Either way, Steve wouldn't remain a mysterious stranger for long. Their paths would cross again, she was sure of it.

"Well," Emma broke away and started off on a side street that diverged eastward. "This is my stop. It was nice to meet you, Steve." She waved at Chance. "Be good, take a bath."

This is the part where I would say something, Bucky thought. This is the part…

" _Hey sweetheart, how about we go out for a dance tonight?"_

No, not that. Quick, she's leaving.

But try as he might, the words wouldn't form. The moment was gone and so was she.

Chance whined.

Bucky sighed. Maybe this version of himself was supposed to be alone. "Come on," he told Chance. "You do need a bath."

* * *

Emma arrived to find Wolf fast asleep on the couch. They had carefully taken off his clothes and wrapped him in a thick blanket that resembled the fur of an adult grizzly bear. Luckily his nose wasn't broken like they originally suspected but the same could not be said for his arm. It was a spiral fracture that they would take care of later. According to Felix, he "knew a guy" and Emma wasn't questioning it. There was nothing else they could do now but give him pain meds and ice his injuries. The right side of his face was completely swollen and the pooled blood underneath turned his skin violet. Wolf looked like he had gotten into a bar fight with the Hulk and lost, badly. Emma brushed back his hair softly, caught somewhere between crazed anguish and a hunger for vengeance.

"You're back," Felix rubbed his eyes and felt a kink in his neck as he woke up from his slumber at the kitchen table.

Emma tugged off her shoes and joined him at the table. "He hasn't said a word?"

Felix shook his head and stared at his brother. "Nothing." He turned back to Emma, saying his next words slowly. "You don't think..?"

"Echis did this?" She finished. "Who else?"

"That doesn't make sense. We already agreed to his terms."

"Maybe he's sending a message? If you disobey, this is what happens to you." Emma felt a surge of guilt. Was Echis willing to maim his best foot soldier because she had resisted to bend to his will?

Felix seemed to sense this. "No, this was too brutal. This was fury." Emma's lip trembled and she quickly covered her mouth. She couldn't break down, she needed to be strong now, for all of them. Felix grabbed her left hand and squeezed. "It will be okay."

She nodded, brushing half-formed tears with the back of her hand. "Let's talk about something else while we wait for Sleeping Beauty to wake up."

He grinned. "He looks better than he usually does, eh?"

Emma gave a small chuckle. "Minor improvement."

They blew off some steam and talked about old times. Like the time Wolf had lost his two front baby teeth and had a whistle when he spoke for months afterward. He was their fearless leader and they followed his orders without defiance, their little band of child soldiers was unbreakable. But their admiration hadn't stopped Emma and Felix from bursting into hysterics at each opportunity, much to Wolf's annoyance.

And the time Felix had climbed a tree further than Wolf and Emma had been able to and promptly gloated at the top. However, his celebration had been premature; a slip of the foot and his arm was broken on impact with the hard ground beneath. The topic was too close to Wolf's currently shattered bones so they moved on to another old story.

To the time Emma had gotten deathly sick after a frosty night they had all spent underneath a bridge. Wolf and Felix had taken turns offering her sips of water, crumbs of food, and piling any rags they could find on her for warmth.

A fierce loyalty burned in Emma's chest as she listened to Felix recount it. She remembered getting sick. The relentless fever. But not much else. "I don't remember you and Wolf taking care of me."

"We were afraid you were going to die." Felix said, avoiding her gaze. "You convulsed a few times, from the fever." He paused and finally looked at her. "You were tougher than we thought."

They stayed there at that table, making coffee, checking on Wolf, and trading stories. By the time the sun was setting, they had rehashed most of their shared history, pulling out treasured memories like family picture albums. They had seen so much while wandering throughout Europe. Florence, Prague, Berlin.

Emma's stomach twisted and the smile on her lips died. "Let's not talk about Berlin."

Felix bit into a sandwich made up of stale bread and spicy salami. He chewed, picking his next words carefully. "Do you still dream about it?"

"Dreams? More like nightmares." She couldn't hold back a shiver.

He nodded. "It still happened. It made us stronger in the end."

"I'm envious at your ability to see it that way." Emma held her cup of coffee, warming her hands. Quietly, almost to herself, she added, "I want to pretend it never happened."

A grunt from the living room interrupted them. "What the fuck?"

Felix threw his arms in the air. "He lives!"

Wolf snorted as the two of them ran over to him. Pair of overgrown little shits, he thought sentimentally. Of course he couldn't die. What would they do without him? "Don't touch me."

Emma held up a water bottle. "You might as well drink now. We have a lot to discuss."

"No, grab the vodka."

"Wolf-"

"Look at my fucking face. I need to be piss drunk."

Felix and Emma shared a morose look. He was back to normal. Felix stood up to grab a half empty bottle from the kitchen cupboard as Wolf began to spin the tale of last night's encounter with Echis.

When he finished, Emma clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I knew it."

"But why?" Felix interjected.

Wolf debated telling them the truth. To tell them would be to open up a can of rotting worms. But what the hell. Here they were. Might as well dig through this messy shit together. "Emma, go to my room. In the closet, there's a hole in the floor covered with an empty safe. Look for a black box."

Emma followed his directions without delay. With a swipe of her hand, the heavy safe slid across the room without needing to even touch it. She kneeled down, anxious to put together this mystery. Sure enough, her fingertips grazed against an object and she pulled out a black box. It was rectangular, no longer than a pencil and light as a feather. She returned to the living room and handed it to Wolf. "What is it?"

Using his thumb on his good hand, Wolf flipped open the lid and pivoted the inside towards them. Syringes, two of them, full of dark green liquid that sparkled like jewels. "They're called Boosters. Stole them from Echis after a raid. He found out and the rest is history."

Felix and Emma both started yelling at the same time.

"Fucking idiot!" he said.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" she said.

Wolf set the syringes down on his chest and raised his hand, calling for silence. "Can I fucking continue?" he asked calmly.

Fuming, Emma replied, "Enlighten us."

He took a deep breath in and blew out slowly out through his nostrils. "The last raid we did, the HYDRA storage unit. That's where I got the Boosters from. The history behind it is fucking insane, it involves Captain America or something. But long story short, Echis had reliable information the Boosters would be in the unit. He didn't just want the microchip we retrieved that day. He wanted the Boosters too."

"Why didn't we know about this?" Felix pried. "Why just you?"

"He didn't want to put the word out that these things even exist. The less people that knew about it, the better." Wolf looked between the two of them. "But I didn't want that motherfucker to get his hands on this. So I took it and pretended it was never in the unit to begin with. His source had it wrong. Case closed."

"But he didn't believe you." Emma surmised.

Wolf shook his head. "No, he didn't. He wanted to make sure I wasn't lying." He winced as he leaned back in an attempt to make himself comfortable. "Not sure how I got out alive this time."

Felix snorted. "When bullshitting saves your life."

"Wait," Emma sat down on the couch carefully, avoiding his feet. "Are these the injections Echis had? When he was an experiment?"

"No," Wolf replied. "These are primitive, about 50 years old. They give you a mean fucking edge but it only lasts a minute. It wears off. What Echis had are an improved version. Permanent." He saw Emma's next question before she opened her mouth. "He wanted these so no one else could have them. The effect is temporary but more powerful than any injections Echis ever had."

"It could kill him," she whispered.

Wolf said nothing but he didn't need to. The possibility was in the air now, waiting to be born.

Felix frowned, incredulous but trepid. "You want to go on a suicide mission to kill Echis? Do you want to look in a mirror?"

His older brother gravely asked, "Do you want to be on a leash for the rest of your life?"

"We could do it," Emma said. "We could kill him." She saw her future, once bleak and gray, suddenly bloom to life. "Wolf is right. We can't live like this, constantly under his thumb."

Wolf smirked. "Did you just say I'm right?"

"You're very close to getting another black eye." Emma retorted.

He shrugged but let it go. "Look, let's take a few days to sleep on it. Echis said he'd call when he needed us." Wolf swung his left arm over his eyes, effectively ending the conversation.

"Emma, you can go to bed. I'll stay with him."

She studied Felix's peaky complexion, unsure if he was tired or suddenly rattled by their pending plan. Or both. "Do you feel alright?"

He only nodded, throwing a couple of cushions on the floor from the neighboring loveseat.

"Call me if you need anything," she said as she climbed the stairs, equal parts guilty and relieved that she could be on her own for a few hours.

Closing the door behind her, Emma gave a huge sigh and let herself slide all the way down to the floor. What a day. She glanced around, seeing her room hadn't magically tidied itself. Maybe it would comply tomorrow?

She dragged herself to her unmade bed, curling up underneath a sheet so thin she could trace the outline of her bunched fingers huddled together near her face. It was cold tonight, but she carried the warmth of a better life close to her heart. She was sure they could overthrow Echis, it could happen. And then? Well, they could do whatever they wanted. They could leave London; settle down somewhere warmer for starters.

Maybe she could run away with Steve. Part of her laughed and part of her sighed. Head over heels about Steve? She had just met him. God, she was so pathetic. And yet, there he was, lingering in the alleyways and back corners of her thoughts like she had known him for years. There was no denying it, she was taken with his pretty face. But there was also an instantly likable character about him, a goodness that surrounded his tough exterior. He seemed worn down by time although he couldn't have been past his early thirties. An old soul. There was something about him, something she would like to figure out.

Perhaps that would have been possible if she had been a normal person to begin with. As it stood, nothing about her life was simple enough to justify asking him if he would like to grab a coffee with her sometime. Her mood turned sour, she threw the sheet over her head and quieted her mind. This was no time for romance.

As she listened to the silence around her, Emma felt the tension slowly leave her body. Time lost all meaning. Her brain meandered through random bits and pieces of information as she sunk into another state of consciousness. She was floating on a cloud, she was walking next to Steve, she was-

 _She was sitting in a chair. She was in a bland white room. A lady in dark blue scrubs was placing sticky squares attached to wires onto her bare skin._

" _Electrodes," A small Emma informed her. Her child's voice reverberated throughout the hall outside. "These are called electrodes. I read it in a book."_

 _The woman ignored her, continuing to work briskly. "Sit all the way back."_

 _Emma did as she was told, scooting back until her calves were digging uncomfortably into the edge of the seat. She grit her teeth. It was then that she saw the tiny colorful caplets in the front pockets of the woman's scrubs._

" _Can I have a candy?"_

 _The lady looked at her directly for the first time since she entered the room. A child, she had just been a child. "Maybe if you're a good girl," she said. Her voice left her, suddenly choked up._

 _But little Emma didn't notice. She grinned, unaware of any malice. She could be a good girl._

 _The world became a smear of colors and the scene changed. Her arm hurt. She picked at the clear wrapping near her elbow. XA003, the blocky text stated. She was XA003._

 _She frowned, that wasn't true. She was Emma. She sat quietly in her cell, trying to manage her new duality, when the door opened._

 _A stranger entered, closely followed by Dr. List. "Emma, stand." He commanded. She did, eying the newcomer as Dr. List continued speaking to him. "She's developing much more quickly than we've expected. Her genetics are extraordinary. However, I recommend behavioral reinforcement as soon as possible. She is prone to.." he paused, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Tantrums."_

 _The man laughed and crouched down to Emma's height. "This little lady? That can't be true." He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "She's a doll."_

 _Emma said nothing, wary but disarmed by his kindness. No one had ever said anything nice to her before._

 _He held out his hand. "Alexander Pierce, pleased to meet you."_

 _It all went blurry once more and she was being escorted by two burly guards. They flanked her on both sides, directing her where to turn by nudging her with their pistols. She wasn't sure if they were as gargantuan as they appeared or if her three foot tall perspective was the main culprit of her bias._

 _They entered a room where two men waited, one on his knees and the other towering over him. She recognized Mr. Pierce immediately._

" _Ah, there she is," he smiled and Emma couldn't help but return it. "My best girl." He gestured to come closer. "It's alright, he won't bite." In reference to the other person in the room, Emma saw he was chained to the floor. The steel links were heavy and wrapped around his wrists and ankles. He was bleeding profusely from his mouth. His head was partially lowered but she could make out gray hair sprouting from his temples. He looked much older than he probably was. "Now," Pierce kneeled down to her eye level. "I need to know a few things. And only he-" He pointed at the man. "Can tell me what I need." He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "But wouldn't you know it, he hurt his mouth and can't tell me. Can you be a big girl and help me?"_

 _Emma nodded, holding out her hand. Pierce held out his pointer and middle finger, letting her grip as she shuffled towards the prisoner. Slowly, she placed her left hand on the his stubbly dark hair._

 _Quick flashes. A house on fire, screaming from the inside; torched corpses hanging from nooses tied to a nearby tree._

 _Emma jumped. The man had let out a heartbreaking howl of pain and started sobbing._

" _Dig deeper," Pierce instructed._

 _She didn't want to. But she did. She was his best girl._

 _Clearer images poured in this time, stable enough to follow. The same man on the ground was opening a door. It was dark inside but the outlines of people huddled around a fire were barely visible. A figure stood, tall and lanky. Emma focused, this felt like an important memory. The person was male, a teenager. He held such a presence that there could be no mistake in assuming he was the leader of this group. His face was marked with the strong lines of the man he would become and the shadow of the child he once was. Brown eyes, brown hair. A name. A name on the tip of her tongue._

" _Dox." Emma said, taking her hand off of the man in chains._

 _Pierce laughed, reaching inside his jacket. "What a doll." He pulled out a gun and shot the man in the head._

Emma sat up, gasping for breath and clutching her chest. Fuck. Could she get one night? One damn night. She steadied herself, climbing out of bed to pace around the room for a bit. She sniffled, surprised to find her face wet with tears. She wiped them away and sat at the window seat. Still shaking, Emma pulled her knees close and leaned her head back against the wall. She stared out the window up at the dark sky, searching for stars but found none.

As Emma was calming herself, Bucky was settled down in bed. He originally wanted to sleep on the floor but Chance had been eager to curl up with him. Now fast asleep on his lap, Bucky figured he could stay put for tonight. After a bath, Chance was still shaggy but perfectly spotless. An intense series of baths had revealed a soft and curly golden brown coat. With some grooming, he could resemble a dog instead of a walking hair piece.

From this vantage point, he could make out a sliver of sky. He wished there were less light pollution. It would have made stargazing possible. His journal was open on a half finished drawing of a bear, overlaid with the constellation pattern of Ursa Major. Old Bucky had liked to learn about astronomy, biology, and the physical sciences. He supposed he did too.

He idly tapped his pencil against the journal. He wondered if he should go to the church tomorrow. Would Emma would be there? He quickly let that reservoir of hope dry out. He didn't deserve friendship. She had done him a favor just by speaking to him. There wasn't a reason to think lightning would strike twice. Bucky mulled it over and put the journal away, shuffling Chance around so he was tucked under the covers. He would go to the church tomorrow, but it wasn't to see Emma. No. It was only because he had nothing else to do. Right.

As he was falling asleep, he realized it was the first time he had made four choices in one day.

The days turned into weeks. Still, no word came from Echis. Wolf's arm was set in a cast and covered in inappropriate doodles courtesy of Emma and Felix. They passed the time mostly with playing cards. The Boosters were not discussed again. A passing glance and one would assume that all was well. But Emma knew better. The fear and tension was boiling beneath the surface but it was there.

And then it happened.

All three had been in the living room. Wolf and Felix were sitting cross legged on the floor, engaged in a contrived version of Blackjack. Emma was laying across the couch, a well loved copy of Jane Eyre in her hands. An insistent banging at the door brought it all to a screeching halt.

"No," Wolf snapped as Felix stood to get it. "Let me."

"Sit down," Emma put a hand on his shoulder. "You should be in a bed."

His ringing phone in his pocket interrupted his smart remark. He answered the second Felix opened the door. "Yeah?"

The voice on the other end was brisk. "Your first victim. I need him tonight. Alive. Bring him to the Holy House. Don't keep me waiting."

Click.

Wolf scowled. Fucking piece of shit.

"Who was it?" Emma asked Felix. He had closed the door, and began shuffling through papers he had received.

"One of Echis' happy helpers." He pulled out a sheet and held it out to her. "Look at this."

She studied the person in the photograph. He was young, on the cusp of his twenties. Dark curls sprang down his forehead. He had an air of confidence about him, the kind only people who believe they're indestructible have. He wouldn't come in easy.

Wolf motioned for Emma to pass the picture. She obliged, not completely in the moment. Her mind was racing a mile a minute. "Echis said tonight?"

He nodded, only half listening. "Felix, what else did he send?"

Emma bolted past him. "I'll be back."

"Hey," Wolf shouted. "Where are you going?"

But it was too late. She had already slammed the door and was halfway down the street. Nervous adrenaline coursed through her. It was happening. The one thing she had dreaded. They were rounding up Enhanced, people like them, and laying them at Echis' feet. There was a special place in hell for her. She was sure of it. Ironically, she had never been sure if she believed in God, or any god for that matter. Could she still ask for forgiveness? Emma supposed that she answered her own question the second she saw the church entrance on the horizon. She spotted a familiar muzzle lounging outside. He's here, she thought with a spasm of anxiety and gave a short whistle.

Chance happily bounded towards her. His transformation from stray to teddy bear was now complete. She ran her hands through his soft curls. "What a good boy, Chance." Emma began to walk in. "Stay."

He was sitting near the altar today. His back and shoulders were hunched forward, like he was reading something in his lap. As she neared, she saw he was wearing a black long sleeve shirt and gloves, despite the fact that it was rather warm today. The book she imagined he was reading was actually a journal. A detailed sketch of two bears took up the pages.

"You're very good," she said, causing him to jump. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Bucky unclenched the deadly fist he had instinctively made with his left hand. He was surprised, he hadn't heard her at all. He mentally berated himself. That could be dangerous. If someone who meant harm caught him off guard like that.. it would end badly. "It's fine." Shock faded and was replaced by something unexpected: relief. Emma was here. He didn't have to listen to the ghosts in his head. For a moment, at least. He scooted over a few inches. "Do you want to sit?"

"Sure," she glanced over at his journal again. "Do you mind if I look?" His mouth twisted into a hard line. "You can say no," she half joked in an attempt to put him at ease.

"I have other drawings in here that aren't finished. They're not good."

Emma sensed a partial truth but ran with it. "Are the other drawings nudes?"

His face grew warm. "No," he said a little too defensively.

She chuckled. "How about if I look from here while you hold it?"

Bucky said nothing but tilted the journal more towards her. She leaned in a bit, taking in his sketches of Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. The ends of her hair brushed against his left arm. She noticed and pulled her hair back and to her left, leaving her neck exposed on her right. She was young, he observed. Young enough to make mistakes and hang around the wrong people, like him. He could stop it. This thing that was happening between them. He should stop it. But, hadn't he been the one coming to the church everyday for a month now?

"These are constellations?" Emma was trained on the drawing of the smaller bear, Ursa Minor. Her fingertips traced the lines connecting the rudimentary shape in the sky to the more detailed build come to life on paper.

"Yeah."

"I was looking for stars the other night," she said, half remembering her nightmare with Pierce as the headliner. "But I'm not smart enough to know the constellations." She delivered that last part with a hint of self deprecation and a smile.

He shifted a bit in his seat. "When you find the North Star, everything else falls into place."

"Probably impossible to find in the middle of London."

"I can usually find it in the park by The National Gallery."

Emma ran over her mental map. "There are a few around there. Which one?"

He paused. "The one closer by the canal."

"St. James?"

Bucky gave a half smile. "Is that what it's called?"

He was finally relaxing, she thought. "This is England, you can't go very far without running into a James."

"I guess not."

"Have you been to The National Gallery?"

He nodded. "A few times."

"I suppose you would since you're an artist," she pointed to his journal.

"You've never gone?"

Emma shrugged and picked at her nails. "I don't get out much."

Before he could register the words that had formed in his head, they were out of his mouth. "We could go, it's not far from here." When he saw her expression of uncertainty, Bucky quickly backtracked. "We don't have to."

"I would," Emma started. "I have somewhere I need to be today." She drummed her fingers on the pew, dreading what was waiting for her.

Bucky managed to disrupt the words spilling out this time. He kept his mouth tightly shut. He wouldn't ask-

"Maybe next time?" Emma interrupted.

It was his turn to be unsure. There shouldn't be a next time. He was a time bomb, he was a disaster waiting to happen, he destroyed everything he touched. And yet, he didn't want to be alone anymore. He wanted a friend. Unable to vocalize any of this, he simply nodded.

"Where do you live?" She saw tension flood his entire being. "That sounded worse than what I meant," she laughed. "I only asked so I knew where to find you next time."

"I'll be here," Bucky responded.

Seeing that she wasn't getting further than that, Emma stood. "Okay, I'll see you later, Steve."

I'm Bucky, he wanted to say. But thankfully he was able to keep it to himself. He walked out of the church a few moments after Emma had left. Chance happily joined his side and the two walked back to the apartment together. Later that night, Bucky flipped to the pages of his journal where he kept pieces of information he did not want to forget. At the bottom of the list, he wrote:

 _I met a girl. Her name is Emma._

* * *

A/N: I'm taking a break from writing for a couple of weeks; final projects are due soon! I'll be writing again by Thanksgiving.


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